Most of the last four weeks were spent in the midst of death of one sort or other. I’m trying to come to grip with that. I want to learn all that I need to from it. It seems that as a child, I spent much too much time at funeral homes through the years. I often felt guilty that I could not cry. My mom's 12 brothers, sisters, as well as their spouses (25 counting my dad) passed away before her, as well as many cousins, so much time was spent at one particular funeral home. I remember one Christmas that two cars of relatives were killed, thus Christmas Eve, Christmas and the day after were spent at the funeral home. The only highlight for a kid was the food and the vast array of sweets in the basement kitchen. Nobody watched nor cared how much you ate or how many times you went downstairs to get a cookie or a Coke. I hadn't realized what an impact that funeral home had on my life until a few weeks ago. We were planning my mom's funeral and making every arrangment. When we entered the funeral home, it was dejavue, little had changed - same rooms, same bathrooms, same people who own it, only older. I even recalled their names immediately. When I said I felt like I had grown up at their place, they nodded and smiled.
Life begins at conception. That is a firm conviction for me.
Death begins at birth. This I am just beginning to understand. Growth is taking place at an amazing pace. Death is slowly taking its place, but unseen at this point.
When you arrive in your twenties, you begin to see some minor deterioration in your body’s energy.
When you arrive in your thirties, you begin to see a small wrinkle or two, and realize that your energy is much less than in years past.
When you arrive in your forties, you are sure that your body has changed. You have gained some weight or at least, you’ve really struggled to keep it the same. You see more small wrinkles, and begin to have backaches, etc. when you’ve spent the day working in the yard. You are not quite so excited to work out at the gym, due to the pain that follows.
When you arrive in your fifties, your backache becomes a frequent companion. You begin to notice that you have more than a couple of wrinkles and it seems that every part of your body has rearranged itself. It takes you longer to get up out of the chair. You begin to feel like a grandparent, whether you are one or not.
When you arrive in your sixies, I don't know. This is the end of my personal experience. I shall soon find out the rest of the story.
This past month has been spent with my mom in the nursing home. My former visits were often enough to check on her, but not lengthy enough to be educated about what goes on there. She always seemed happy enough and I knew I was unable to care for her in her physical condition. Her mental and emotional state in the past were often incoherent and angry, thus I knew this would effect a tremendous drain, which prohibited me visiting her too often.
These past weeks following a major stroke have proved to make some changes in her for the better as well as the worse. She is overall weaker; however there is a peace and pleasantness that surrounds her. Only a few times was I aware of any anger and those were times she needed to express herself with strength. I was very aware that I needed to listen to her and try to obtain whatever it was she was requesting. She is still very much aware of her own body and life and able to communicate her needs. We shared many touching moments. I love my mom. She loves me. I can say that she has always showed up to be my mother every day – never abandoning the role. Sometimes, when I was younger, perhaps I didn’t appreciate her as I should have, but nevertheless, she has always cared and acted on my behalf. I am so grateful for that.
Back to the subject of death, which would be impossible to ignore if you are spending days on end at a nursing home. My cousin, Ronnie, who was 64 years old passed away almost two weeks ago. We attended his funeral, which was unexpected. My cousin, Margie, is a resident at the nursing home and has less than six months to live. She has already been assigned to hospice, and has much difficulty breathing. Some days I was unable to visit her due to her serious respiratory status. Death from these two, who are too young for that to be the subject.
As I observed all of the residents at the nursing home, I realized they are all preparing for death. It is only a matter of time. This is a huge waiting room for each of them and their time to move out of this world and into the next. Some are happy people and some are not. Some are fun to be with and some are not.
One of the most fun people lives across the hall from my mom and for that I am thankful. She checks on my mom several times a day. Her name is Beulah, but I call her Boo Boo. She has adopted Loren and me as her own, as she has no children. I even gave her a manicure Saturday afternoon.
She is a joy to be around – always telling us that she has more fun than a barrel of monkeys and she is telling the absolute truth. Two weeks ago, Hippy Day at the nursing home, a professional singer was there in concert. Boo Boo and one of the nurses danced until they could stand no longer. Boo Boo even convinced Loren to dance with her. The singer handed out a morocco to the entire group, all in wheelchairs. (Some can walk small distances, but are supposed to use the wheelchair most of the time to prevent falls.) The morocco was to encourage them to be active and get a little exercise. My mom even got in on the action by shaking one in each hand. Mom was smiling and having a good time. We took pictures of the event, and you can view them at http://missannajune2009.shutterfly.com/
Saturday, after my mom fell or slid out of her new bed, the nurse and aide put her in the wheelchair. They wheeled her into the hall where I was giving Boo Boo a manicure. After a few minutes, my mom said, “Well . . . at least I got a little nap.” We all laughed, because after all, falling out of the bed onto a hard floor couldn’t have been pleasant, but my mom seemed so pleasant and happy. These are not the traits I would have used years ago or even months ago to describe my mom.
Back to Saturday, the scene was surreal. I was seated in the hall with mom’s rolling bed tray placed between Boo Boo and me, as I manicured her nails a lovely shade of red. Miss Dorothy, another of mom’s neighbors, in her wheelchair at the other end of the hall, watched us from a distance. Miss Dorothy was dressed in a nice dress with her purse sitting squarely in her lap and all ready for dinner, which was a full hour away. I waved to Miss Dorothy and she finally saw me and waved back. Slowly but surely, Miss Dorothy traveled down the hall to our location. There we were all having a fun time. My mom, Boo Boo, and Miss Dorothy all surrounding me and we were all laughing. I so wished for my camera at that moment. It was a memory for the picture books. Three older ladies and me just relating and enjoying every minute of it.
Miss Dorothy held her hands closely and said, “My nails are such a mess.” I told Miss Dorothy that I will give her a manicure the next time I come. She smiles and says, “thank you”. Now Miss Dorothy is a tiny lady with a tiny personality, very quite and the perfect lady. Miss Dorothy always wears dresses and looks like she is going out for an event, rather than simply eating dinner in her own dining hall. I asked Miss Dorothy what color she would want, pink or red. I was sure it would be pink. Wrong. She loves red nails, so red it will be when I return at a later date.
I am impressed with the nursing home dining room. The nursing home uses beautiful fresh linens on the tables with cloth napkins for each meal. They use dinnerware and nice glass wear, rather than paper. The aides are attentive to what is being eaten or often, what is not being eaten. As they observe my mom, often they will go off to the kitchen to request an option, a stuffed potato, soup or simply a milkshake.
I gave my mom a manicure Saturday morning. This was the third one that I’ve given her this month. Loren always helps me as he holds one of mom’s hands while I work with the other one. I had to redo one nail about five times due to her moving it and messing the polish up. It takes time and patience to give her a manicure. I love doing this for my mom. She loves pink and her nails are a lovely shade of pale pink. I think the nurses and aides got a kick out of me giving my mom a real pedicure, complete with pink toes. My mom has her hair done each week. Sometimes, she stays in her room and misses that opportunity. I made a visit to the onsite beauty salon and requested that they try to take care of my mom’s hair each week, leaving with the instruction that if she doesn’t feel like it that day, then to please check the following day to do her hair. It makes the whole place happier somehow. Just caring for people and taking care of them, that makes others happier. Mom is very aware of the condition of her hair and nails. I want her to look lovely each and every day. As I watch my mom’s body slowly deteriorate and shrink I realize that the end is not that far away. Mom eats little and is nearly all bone. My heart desires to be there every day taking care of her. My mind knows that I cannot. Thus grieving the loss of my mom has begun. It seems another wall has come down in my heart. I cry for no apparent reason, sometimes in the middle of eating a meal. Perhaps I am grieving the years lost living with a mom with no way for her mind and emotions to be regulated. Perhaps I am simply beginning to grieve her leaving me behind.
In the midst of my education on death and dying, here I was seated in the middle of three delightful elderly ladies, all in their late eighties to early nineties. I was having the time of my life, just enjoying their company and listening . . . listening for their wisdom.
In conclusion of spending nearly four weeks in a nursing home, I realize that the future does not depend on our aging body and the condition of it, for it will be resurrected and glorified. I have decided that it is true what my husband says. “We are all going to die some day. It’s just a matter of when and how. And, in the long run . . . we all must die in preparation for real life.” In preparation for that day, it makes me want to love more, give more, relate more, bless God and others more, and fill my days with life and living. Death will come soon enough, but today is for living. This is the cycle of life. Dust to dust. We are perpetually being prepared for the next world, our life with God that will last for eternity. The real story is not here now, but to come later. We are simply in training for the future. Death is not something to be feared. It is simply the vehicle that transports us to God and the future.
"In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal. So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: "Death is swallowed up in victory." I Corinthians 15:53-54 New Living Translation
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Legacy of a Father
These last two weeks plus have afforded me the opportunity to reflect on and grieve my father’s passing, which occurred almost 14 years ago. At that time our family was living in Russia, and after I returned to Russia following my father’s funeral, there was no time for grieving. I was thrown full throttle into trauma of a new sort. My former husband had abandoned my son and me in that foreign communist country. My two grown daughters were living in the states, the oldest one married with two babies and the other one in her first year of teaching high school English and History.
While spending time at the nursing home with my mom during recent days, I was encouraged by the memory of two men there. The first man was living at the nursing home, and one morning I encountered his daughter in the parking lot. I knew she was very familiar, but I couldn’t remember who she was. When I asked her name, my memory was jolted. Actually I had spent much time playing with her at the swimming pool as a kid. Her dad had owned a furniture and appliance store. When I made a visit to his room, he told of the time my dad made a purchase and paid the bill with an old cigar box full of silver dollars. His family is still in possession of this precious payment – a reminder of a man who managed his business with integrity, honesty, and much forethought – my dad.
One day while eating lunch with my mom in the nursing home dining room, I noticed a couple who were familiar, but again I couldn’t quite bring up the name. As I inquired, I realized I had attended high school with their son. This man comes to the nursing home each and every day to feed his wife her lunch as she is unable to take care of herself. When I told him who my dad was, his response was, “They don’t make men like your dad anymore! He was a fine man of integrity.”
While attending to my mom during these weeks, we made all of the final arrangements concerning the services and I also selected the flowers. While ordering the flowers at a new shop in a small town nearby, the lady seemed familiar to me. After some discussion of how we would know each other, she realized who my father was. Then she told me a story. About 35 years ago, my dad retired from a company he had worked with for about 30 years. He started his own business at this point and began to purchase materials from a local business. A young married lady about 30 years old, who simply worked at this business, assisted my dad with his purchases and got to know him pretty well. One day she told my dad that she and her husband had decided to start a new business and that she was worried about making a living from it. My dad told her his business motto, “Do what you say you will do when you say you will do it, and you will never lack for customers.” Her husband arrived and popped in to verify the story and how it has been the motto for all of their businesses. Then their 30 year plus daughter came in and explained how she had heard my dad’s name her whole life and this motto had been taught to her for her whole life. Tell the truth. Have integrity. Be honest. All of these were true of my dad. Imagine how this encouraged my heart. I knew my dad was this type of man. I didn’t know how far reaching his beliefs went. I didn’t realize that they had actually influenced a community. Both the lady who owned the flower shop and I sat there and cried together. She was so happy to meet me and know that I was my dad’s daughter. My husband then told the lady that I truly was my father’s daughter in many ways. I felt so proud of my dad. I am so thankful for the man my dad was and all the good character that he represented consistently throughout his life. I am thankful that his foundation was based on God’s Word.
P.S. I will update you on my mom soon.
While spending time at the nursing home with my mom during recent days, I was encouraged by the memory of two men there. The first man was living at the nursing home, and one morning I encountered his daughter in the parking lot. I knew she was very familiar, but I couldn’t remember who she was. When I asked her name, my memory was jolted. Actually I had spent much time playing with her at the swimming pool as a kid. Her dad had owned a furniture and appliance store. When I made a visit to his room, he told of the time my dad made a purchase and paid the bill with an old cigar box full of silver dollars. His family is still in possession of this precious payment – a reminder of a man who managed his business with integrity, honesty, and much forethought – my dad.
One day while eating lunch with my mom in the nursing home dining room, I noticed a couple who were familiar, but again I couldn’t quite bring up the name. As I inquired, I realized I had attended high school with their son. This man comes to the nursing home each and every day to feed his wife her lunch as she is unable to take care of herself. When I told him who my dad was, his response was, “They don’t make men like your dad anymore! He was a fine man of integrity.”
While attending to my mom during these weeks, we made all of the final arrangements concerning the services and I also selected the flowers. While ordering the flowers at a new shop in a small town nearby, the lady seemed familiar to me. After some discussion of how we would know each other, she realized who my father was. Then she told me a story. About 35 years ago, my dad retired from a company he had worked with for about 30 years. He started his own business at this point and began to purchase materials from a local business. A young married lady about 30 years old, who simply worked at this business, assisted my dad with his purchases and got to know him pretty well. One day she told my dad that she and her husband had decided to start a new business and that she was worried about making a living from it. My dad told her his business motto, “Do what you say you will do when you say you will do it, and you will never lack for customers.” Her husband arrived and popped in to verify the story and how it has been the motto for all of their businesses. Then their 30 year plus daughter came in and explained how she had heard my dad’s name her whole life and this motto had been taught to her for her whole life. Tell the truth. Have integrity. Be honest. All of these were true of my dad. Imagine how this encouraged my heart. I knew my dad was this type of man. I didn’t know how far reaching his beliefs went. I didn’t realize that they had actually influenced a community. Both the lady who owned the flower shop and I sat there and cried together. She was so happy to meet me and know that I was my dad’s daughter. My husband then told the lady that I truly was my father’s daughter in many ways. I felt so proud of my dad. I am so thankful for the man my dad was and all the good character that he represented consistently throughout his life. I am thankful that his foundation was based on God’s Word.
P.S. I will update you on my mom soon.
Friday, June 5, 2009
A Stunning Morning!
Praise the Lord for answered prayer. Thank you for praying! My mom rallied this morning (Friday). She knew who I was when I walked in, and was glad to see me. We laughed. We talked. We had a most blessed time together for about 3 hours. She ate a really good lunch & here's the big news: she fed herself!
She began to lose strength, her face drawing up more and her eyes fading more for several hours, and then she slept sound for 2 hours. When she woke up it was dinner time, and she wasn't interested in eating and seemed to be fading more.
It was obvious to the nurses that the Wednesday TIA event really damaged her system, so this morning they were totally amazed at her abrupt turnaround. But, this evening the damage to her system was obvious.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. It could be her last day or she could linger a while longer . . . . . It could be hours, days or weeks. Only God knows the appointed time of her departure. If she doesn't make it another day or I am not there when she dies, I am content. God gave me 3 glorious hours with her today that HE preserved just for me. He heard my prayer and yours and answered.
She began to lose strength, her face drawing up more and her eyes fading more for several hours, and then she slept sound for 2 hours. When she woke up it was dinner time, and she wasn't interested in eating and seemed to be fading more.
It was obvious to the nurses that the Wednesday TIA event really damaged her system, so this morning they were totally amazed at her abrupt turnaround. But, this evening the damage to her system was obvious.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. It could be her last day or she could linger a while longer . . . . . It could be hours, days or weeks. Only God knows the appointed time of her departure. If she doesn't make it another day or I am not there when she dies, I am content. God gave me 3 glorious hours with her today that HE preserved just for me. He heard my prayer and yours and answered.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
When My Mom Passes On
My mom is 200 miles away in a nursing home bed, where she has lived for a little over four years. She has been waiting . . . ready to move to her eternal home on the other side. Her body had been way too healthy for her age, until her mind began to fade and she became even more unmanageable. Her face is not the face of a 90 year old woman for it’s as smooth as silk with only a slight wrinkle. My husband says I inherited her skin. That fact alone proves that she was here, that she lived on this earth and that she gave birth to a baby named Cherry.
With each visit, she has faded more, moving ever so slowly to the other side. For over a year, she’s not even known who I am. When I go into her room, I introduce myself again, and with a smile on her face she tells me that she has a daughter with the same name. Then she starts listing her thoughts about her daughter, how wonderful, how sweet, what a wonderful baby she was, how everyone wanted to play with her growing up. Then she tells me that she wants us to meet, her daughter and me. When I go to visit, we laugh a lot, mostly because she is talking as if she is already in another world . . . a world of her own making. It’s a world mixed up with particles of her past life as a child, her life as a young adult, and her life with my dad. I most often dread these visits, due to the stress involved. I leave, however, with my self-esteem boosted a couple of notches, and it has prepared me somehow for now.
I’ve known that one day I would get a call of her further decline. I said my goodbyes long ago. I really lost my mom the day after my dad died, 14 years ago. I think the stress caused her personality to abruptly change. I thought it would be okay when she passed on, that I would be okay about all of it. I am okay, but there’s one thing that I really want now. It’s a simple thing. It costs nothing. It requires little. It means a lot to me.
I need to visit again – later today. This could me my last one. She had a stroke yesterday, and was asking for the nurse to hold her hand. I am looking forward to this visit. In fact, I can’t get there fast enough.
You see . . . . . my mom was with me when I was born, so the least, the very least I can do is to be there holding her hand when she passes on to the other side.
Please pray that I can get there in time to hold my mom’s hand when she passes through to the other side.
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we, who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep.”
I Thess. 4:13-15 NAS
With each visit, she has faded more, moving ever so slowly to the other side. For over a year, she’s not even known who I am. When I go into her room, I introduce myself again, and with a smile on her face she tells me that she has a daughter with the same name. Then she starts listing her thoughts about her daughter, how wonderful, how sweet, what a wonderful baby she was, how everyone wanted to play with her growing up. Then she tells me that she wants us to meet, her daughter and me. When I go to visit, we laugh a lot, mostly because she is talking as if she is already in another world . . . a world of her own making. It’s a world mixed up with particles of her past life as a child, her life as a young adult, and her life with my dad. I most often dread these visits, due to the stress involved. I leave, however, with my self-esteem boosted a couple of notches, and it has prepared me somehow for now.
I’ve known that one day I would get a call of her further decline. I said my goodbyes long ago. I really lost my mom the day after my dad died, 14 years ago. I think the stress caused her personality to abruptly change. I thought it would be okay when she passed on, that I would be okay about all of it. I am okay, but there’s one thing that I really want now. It’s a simple thing. It costs nothing. It requires little. It means a lot to me.
I need to visit again – later today. This could me my last one. She had a stroke yesterday, and was asking for the nurse to hold her hand. I am looking forward to this visit. In fact, I can’t get there fast enough.
You see . . . . . my mom was with me when I was born, so the least, the very least I can do is to be there holding her hand when she passes on to the other side.
Please pray that I can get there in time to hold my mom’s hand when she passes through to the other side.
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we, who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep.”
I Thess. 4:13-15 NAS
Monday, June 1, 2009
Blogitis and Marxism
I have blogitis! What is it? Well . . . it’s a condition that can come over one who wants to write something for a blog, but has writer’s block or worse than that life block. That’s where nothing much is going on.
So, the truth is out. I have it - blogitis. I do hope it leaves soon. Until then, I am practicing how to load a video or how to position a photo exactly where I want it on the page, that sort of stuff. This IS a learning process.
I’ll be back when I have something to share, show or whatever – blog about. In the duration, I have blogitis, thus am asking you for your opinion below:
America’s slide to Marxism:
Read this incredible piece in Sunday's Russian online Pravda newspaper.
http://english.pravda.ru/opinion/columnists/107459-0/
As someone said to me, “How cynical”. That it is, but the sad thing is the basic article is true.
Tell me what do you think? Has America already gone too far into Marxism? Can we recover?
So, the truth is out. I have it - blogitis. I do hope it leaves soon. Until then, I am practicing how to load a video or how to position a photo exactly where I want it on the page, that sort of stuff. This IS a learning process.
I’ll be back when I have something to share, show or whatever – blog about. In the duration, I have blogitis, thus am asking you for your opinion below:
America’s slide to Marxism:
Read this incredible piece in Sunday's Russian online Pravda newspaper.
http://english.pravda.ru/opinion/columnists/107459-0/
As someone said to me, “How cynical”. That it is, but the sad thing is the basic article is true.
Tell me what do you think? Has America already gone too far into Marxism? Can we recover?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)